


but here i was, thinking that we were possible

by mirroroflit (volunteer_of_hufflepuff)



Series: in history we trust [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cold War setting, Historical AU, M/M, Secret Relationship, Shadowhunters: The Ficlet Instruments, week 6: Film Noir, when your lover doesn't acknowledge you in public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 04:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteer_of_hufflepuff/pseuds/mirroroflit
Summary: In the midst of the Cold War, trust is lacking.When Magnus Bane goes to a rundown speakeasy to pass on some vital information, he doesn’t expect to run into his secret lover.Or: it's the 60s, tensions are high in the U.S, and men loving other men is still not socially acceptable.





	but here i was, thinking that we were possible

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> A weary, cynical P.I. gets a new case.
> 
> -
> 
> hope you enjoy my twist on this prompt!

The scratch of the record and the mumble of blues fills the speakeasy, with its peeling gold paint and scratched oak walls.

It is long past the charm and sway of the 20s, past the misery of the 30s and World War II, but in the heart of New York, the speakeasies live on.

As Magnus tilts his chiselled crystal glass from side to side, the golden amber brown whiskey swirls around.

He’s looking for another agent, another man lost in this sticky web of private investigation underneath the cracked and damned laws of this country, who should be dressed in an unassuming black suit with a navy checkered pocket square thrown over his shoulder.

Magnus needs to pass on a note, of some sort, scribbled in a code he himself cannot understand.

But anybody could be a Russian spy, after all, so this secrecy is vital.

There’s not a lot of other people here, the bartender and a few ladies dressed up in dark evening wear. 

A man fitting the description sits nestled in a corner.

Magnus, carrying his whiskey, walks over to tap his shoulder.

As he waits for him to turn around, he nurses his whiskey.

Magnus is trained for a life of secrecy, of living alone and coming home to the creak of his shabby one-room apartment.

But he’s not expecting to meet someone he knows.

“Alexander?” he whispers, when the man turns around.

Alexander. The man with gorgeous, heartfelt hazel eyes who spun him around at his sister’s covert party.

Alexander, who works in the same dangerous field as Magnus.

Alexander, who Magnus may have kissed on the fine silk of his four-poster bed.

Alexander smiles, but is weary and tight. “Mr Bane. Is that bourbon?”

Magnus nods. “Without the ice, I’m afraid it dulls the taste.”

“Hm,” Alexander says, leaning forward. “Maybe I should try it.”

He slips a hand into Magnus’ breast pocket, obscured in the shadows, and pulls out the note, slipping it into the folds of his well-cut blazer. 

Magnus bites at his lip. “Maybe you should.”

“Maybe.” Alexander shrugs, pulling out his gleaming golden pocket watch. “Alas, I agreed to accompany my sister to the opera tonight. Thank you for the recommendation, Mr Bane.”

He stands up, and the scrape of his chair is hollow.

But this is a public place, not a place of heartbreak and betrayal. “Enjoy, Lord Lightwood.”

When Alexander has departed, and his glass is empty, he calls over the bartender.

Magnus orders whiskey on the rocks.

After all, hasn’t that always been his heartache drink?


End file.
